Unwritten
by wouldtheywriteasongforyou
Summary: Solve it, if you dare. — a collection of odd and puzzling Riddle-y, Dumbledore-y, Founder-y, in-between era drabbles and one-shots.
1. (hats off to longbottom)

**Author's Note:  
>Disclaimer: After writing this, I realised Augusta's maiden name isn't Longbottom. Oops.<br>**

Written for the HPFC 335 Pairing Bonanza Challenge; Acrostic-y Competition "T_**h**_e Vanishing Glass"; Twelve Days of Christmas Challenge "3. crack pairing"

15 February 2014. Word Count: 617

"**You know, sometimes I think we Sort too soon."**

* * *

><p><span><strong>Hats Off to Longbottom<strong>

Heroes and legends had to start somewhere, and it just so happened to be the Sorting Hat's job to guide them all on to their paths of destiny. Well, only the Hogwarts students – the Sorting Hat had nothing to do with the failures of Grindelwald or Gregorovitch or the conquests of Bonaparte. The Sorting Hat, an age-worn patchy black witch's hat, was a relic dating back to the magic of the four original Hogwarts Founders. It relished its power by spewing out words of gibberish that wizarding folk pretended to understand while sitting in the Great Hall and feeling self-important.

Most years were quite unmemorable to the Sorting Hat – it did not have a brain, you see, so its vernacular exceeded its memory capacity – but 1972 was rather unforgettable. There had been a forty-seven day miners' strike against the British government, Israel athletes had been attacked and murdered at the Munich Olympics, and the Watergate Scandal occurred in that capitalist heaven people referred to as 'MURICA. But none of those world events pertained to the Sorting Hat, though, so they were easily dismissed from the Hat's mind. No, 1972 was a haunting year, for it was during that year's Sorting did the Hat make a mistake for the first time in its existence.

The Hat could not see since it was lacking in human body parts – it was simply a Charmed _hat_ – but the girl's mind was rather curious. Using her brain, she practically shouted her thoughts to the Hat which annoyed the Sorting Hat very much. (Hearing voices in ones' head was never a good sign, even in the wizarding world.)

MY NAME IS AUGUSTA LONGBOTTOM, she declared bumptiously but the Hat already knew that.

_Do you have any preferences as to which House you would like to be Sorted into?_ the Hat asked, for it was in a kind mood that September first.

YOU PUT PEOPLE WHERE THEY WISH TO BE SORTED? Augusta Longbottom asked in a positively scandalised tone. THEN WHAT'S THE POINT OF THE SORTING HAT IF THE STUDENTS SORT THEMSELVES?

_That's not how the Sorting works_, the Hat responded peevishly. _I merely take your wishes into consideration._

HMMPH, Augusta snorted. WELL, I WISH TO BE IN RAVENCLAW. I'M SURE YOU CAN SEE HOW ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT I AM.

_Oh yes, _the Hat affirmed. _Modest, too._ The Hat paused as it inspected the rest of Augusta Longbottom's talent. _But I see that your skills at Charms are lacking._

IMPOSSIBLE, August scoffed. I'M ONLY A FIRST YEAR – YOU HAVE NO WAY OF KNOWING WHETHER I AM GOOD AT CHARMS OR NOT. PUT ME IN RAVENCLAW.

_But such cunning ambitiousness and a noticeable sense of self-preservation would do you well in Slytherin_, the Hat argued.

PUT. ME. IN. RAVENCLAW. _NOW_.

The Sorting Hat huffed. _If that is where you wish to be_. Out loud, it declared: "RAVENCLAW!" and the Great Hall erupted into congratulatory applause.

Many heads and decisions and minds later, Headmaster Dumbledore placed the Sorting Hat on his own head in the secluded confines of his office. "Augusta Longbottom is quite a character," he mused after an incident involving the now-Third-Year and mandrakes in Greenhouse Three. "She single-handedly managed to shatter the eardrums of every Slytherin in her double-Herbology class."

The Sorting Hat sighed. _I knew I had made a mistake putting such a charmless witch into Ravenclaw_.

Headmaster Dumbledore shrugged. "You know, sometimes I think we Sort too soon."

It would not be the last time either Headmaster or Hat agreed with that statement for characters such as Tom Riddle Jr., Harry Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Severus Snape, Hermione Granger, and Lily Evans would come to place the Hat upon their naive little First Year heads.

[-]


	2. (sincerely, a concerned employee)

**Author's Note:  
>Disclaimer: References chapter 12 of "And The Bible Didn't Mention Us (Not Even Once)" by TheNextFolchart.<br>**

Written for the Tien Len Competition "Round One: Jack - Dedalus Diggle, plum, "It hasn't been the same since."

27 April 2014.

**_If you could limit the number of sighs one person can make during their time in the compartment, it would be much appreciated._**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Sincerely, A Concerned Employee<br>**

[-]

Lift rides are always so awkward: the paper aeroplanes hover overhead, the people stare vacantly and try to not jostle one another, everyone mutually contemplates if the stairs might have been faster . . . not to mention that the lurching of the Ministry lifts can make the best sailor seasick. However, it is the silence that always bothers Dedalus Diggle. Mind you, it's never quite quiet inside of a lift: there's the breathing to account for, the boring sighs often attributed to boring people who do boring work in a boring work place, and the _ding-ding-ding_ as the lift shifts from one storey of the building to the next.

But there must be some unspoken rule that people are not allowed to talk while riding the lift, and it is because of this absence of speech that Dedalus Diggle finds it to be rather awkward and silent inside of the lift.

He doesn't like to be quiet, oh no, not Dedalus Diggle. He's the type to insist that you call him by first and last name at all times and in one long, big rush because he speaks in one long, big rush without ever taking a breath so you must do so, too. He keeps a large pocket watch in his waistcoat that shouts at him to "_Hurry up!_" whenever he is late. It's only half past seven in the morning and that watch has yelled eighteen _Hurry ups_! today; five of which took place in the lift.

(Apparently it is all right for watches to talk during the ascent but not people. Dedalus Diggle doesn't quite understand the logic there, either.)

To pass the time, Dedalus Diggle mentally composes a letter to the Minister concerning the lack of friendly atmosphere inside of the Ministry lifts. After the Second Wizarding War, Minister Shacklebolt started to advocate the importance of healthy work relationships to bond the Ministry together and make it a secure and safe place following its infiltration. _It hasn't been the same, since_, Dedalus Diggle frowns. He remembers the glory days of the Ministry pre-Fudge and how the Ministry had been a government agency other countries envied before Fudge fudged it all up. Dedalus Diggle hopes that Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt will right all of Fudge's wrongs and then some.

_Dear Minister_, he begins. _I don't mean to be a bother, and I completely understand if you have more pressing matters to attend to, but it has come to my attention that the social ambiance of the Ministry of Magic lifts could be greatly improved. If you could limit the number of sighs one person can make during their time in the compartment, it would be much appreciated. Also, if you could encourage co-workers to actuall__y talk to one another, I believe inter-Ministry unity could -__  
><em>

"Level Two: Department of Magical Law Enforcement," the cool, neutral voice announces as the lift stops and the accordion gates creak open. "The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day . . . "

Dedalus Diggle clambers out and pauses to get his bearings. He habitually checks his watch - _hurry up!_ it prompts him - and then adjusts his plum top hat. He's a bit disappointed since his purple top hat, the one he favours more, is being dry-cleaned. The plum one just doesn't have the same feel to it as his purple one (anyone else would tell you they are exactly the same hat; one is simply a tad more faded and frayed from constant use) but it is no matter! He is an important Auror on a very important mission. Just what exactly was his assignment for today . . . ?

He shrugs and conjures up a quill and light-violet parchment to write his memo to the Minster before he forgets his elaborately and wonderfully detailed letter. _Dear Minister_, he begins again, writing on the side of the wall because he cannot be bothered to walk the twenty metres to his office just down the corridor on the right. He is signing his last 'e' of _Sincerely, a concerned employee_ with a grand flourish and folding up the paper aeroplane when he hears a boisterous:

"Dedalus Diggle!" a woman shouts because that's what you do when you address Dedalus Diggle.

"Hestia Jones!" he exuberantly shouts back to her even though she's standing right next to him.

"Are you waiting for the lift?" she questions.

"No, I actually stepped off a few seconds ago." The lift doors open, and Dedalus Diggle sends off his aeroplane to be delivered to the Minister. Then, he looks over at Hestia. At first glance, the witch seems to be content and smiling; however, Aurors are trained to look past the first glance. (_Constant vigilance_, the gruff voice of Alastor Moody would have interjected in.) Dedalus Diggle assesses his Auror-partner and notes her tired eyes and wrinkled clothing. "Rough night?"

She nods vigorously. "Oh, you would not _believe_ what happened. Five Ministry letters were sent to the house last night! Five! All about supposedly urgent Ministry-related incidents, but each and every one of them was a false alarm. Either this place has bloody rubbish security or a certain someone is playing tricks on Kingsley. Good Merlin, I didn't get a wink of sleep last night all thanks to that _Dear Minister_ prat!"

"Yes, of course, how terribly rude of them!" Dedalus Diggle firmly agrees. He can't believe the gall of the person to bother the Minister so persistently.

(Later, when he has yet to receive a reply from Minister Shacklebolt regarding the lifts, Dedalus Diggle wonders why the Minister has not responded to his letter he had crafted with utmost sincere concern.)

[-]


	3. (coeur de mort)

****note de l'auteur:  
>disclaimer:<strong>  
><strong>

écrit pour la compétition de si (9. dementors avait des coeurs) ; la compétition de tien len (carte 4 : « Victoire Weasley » ; « joy »; « Remember what happened the last time you said that ? ») ; le défi de voleur de livre (5. even death has a heart.) ; le camp d'entraînement de citations de poésie (1. The child's cry/Melts in the wall./And I/Am the arrow - _Ariel_, Sylvia Plath)

30 avril 2014. compte de mot :

**You were dead before you had the chance to take your first breath.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><span><strong>Coeur de Mort<br>**

[-]

You were dead before you had the chance to take your first breath. A soul rattled in between the spaces of your ribcage and waited for that very first molecule of oxygen to claim it, to bond you to the soul and the soul to you, but the oxygen never came. Instead, your lips parted in a silent scream as you turned your tiny premature lungs inside-out and tried to expel the soul that was trying to latch onto your beat-less heart. It was undoubtedly a cry for help, so vulnerably desperate and tempting, that surely you understand why I couldn't help but mark you as my prey.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I drifted through the shadows to find you. I sensed the soul evaporating into your stillborn body with every passing second, but no, that would not do. I _had_ to have your poor unfortunate soul to add to my collection. Desperation flooded through my bloodless veins as a chill that had nothing to do with me seeped into your body. The light darkened into shadows with every sweep of my midnight cloak, and suddenly it was only a race against me and Death to see who would steal you away first.

I was an unwanted guest lurking in the graveyard that you had been born in, but I doubted Death's presence received a warmer reception than the one that had been slapped into me with the weight of a well-intentioned Patronus Charm.

"Victoire Weasley is mine," Death murmured from behind his hood. We were both lingering on the fringe of Shell Cottage's boundary: I was waiting for another opportunity to strike before your soul drifted into Death's greedy hands; I don't know what Death was doing - plotting a way to prevent me from giving you a goodbye kiss?

I wanted to laugh at Death's words of warning but the mere thought of expressing uninhibited joy hurt my non-existential heart. _Remember what happened the last time you said that?_ I reminded him.

He scowled fiercely at my not-so-subtle jab at the memory of Sirius Black. I, of course, had enjoyed the company of the black sheep for thirteen years; Death, instead, had lost his sole opportunity to the Whispering Veil.

_Don't mind me_, I thought as I pushed through the threshold of the seaside cottage and into the room you would never get to see. I could feel your soul biting at the back of your throat, struggling like a bird to be free of your useless cage.

"No!" the girl screamed and pointed her wooden stick at me. If I had eyes, I would have rolled them at her. Wands were useless toys to my kind unless that abhorrent spell of pure love and light was produced. "No, I won't let you 'ave zem!"

I could afford to bargain with the silly girl. _Just the one? I only want the baby who is mostly dead, anyway._

The girl shook her head defiantly even though I knew she could not possibly hear the thoughts I was projecting. "Leave!" she screamed in a broken, raw voice. "You've taken too many of us already; please, just go away and leave my sister's family alone." Her wand hand shook but she made a valiant effort nonetheless. "_Ex . . . expect . . . p-p-patro . . . exp-p-pecto_ . . . ."

I sighed. Her first _patronus_ had been mediocre but had served to banish Death and me away for a few moments; now, she was pathetic and weak, drained of her energy with no love to spare in her heart.

_Just the girl_, I promised as I eased you out of your unconscious mother's arms. The girl watched horror-struck as I settled my face over your eternally sleeping one. I was there, waiting patiently, when your soul peeked out from underneath your tongue. I vacuumed up the blistering purity immediately, relishing the sweetness of an innocent life. I was savouring the last few drops - you tasted like velvet cherry wine, no, perhaps more like brandy - when an inferno slammed into my back.

"_Expecto patronum!_" thunder bellowed viciously from behind me in a voice I recognised as William Weasley's.

As the spell hit us both, your soul crawled back up from my esophagus and twined itself with my essence as I fractured into a million tattered pieces. I let out a surprised exhale as we dissolved into atoms and fell down the rabbit hole of your throat and into your ventricles and chambers, the only places I cannot exist for Dementors are unable to come into contact with a heart. My last gasp was the first breath of oxygen your soul had ever come into contact with, and your body roared to life as your cardiovascular system began to stoke a liquid fire that disintegrated me entirely.

You were dead before you had the chance to take your first breath, Victoire Weasley. You may have claimed a temporary victory over me that second day of May, but I am the monster that lurks within your mind. I am the shadow that follows you everywhere you go, and I am the nightmare that plagues your every waking thought. I have stolen your soul once, and I can do it again.

I am your Dementor.

[-]


	4. (ghosts)

**Author's Note:  
>Disclaimer: <strong>I took artistic liberties with the medieval era.<strong>  
><strong>

Written for the HPFC Acrostic-y Competition "The Vanishin**_g _**Glass" [ghosts]; The Ghosts Challenge "23. Second chance"; Star Light, Star Bright challenge "star" [deceased person]; Cinema Competition "The Lovely Bones"; Twelve Days of Christmas Challenge "Level One"

13 February 2014. Re-posted 15 May 2014. Word Count: 1,990

**"I did what had to be done."  
><strong>

* * *

><p><span><strong>Ghosts<strong>

[-]

"Go away," she bit out. "I do not wish to speak with you."

"Lena, please see reason, my love. Your mother is dying. Won't you honour her last desire to be reunited once again?"

Helena Ravenclaw sneered at the Baron who had travelled to Albania only to imprison her in Rowena Ravenclaw's shadow once more. "She does not care for me," Helena hissed. "She only wishes to see you and I wed before she takes her last breath."

"Is that such a fault?"

She eyed him with barely veiled disgust. He didn't understand how much a mother could love her child and that such love could be blinding to other's imperfections. Helena knew that her mother only wanted was best for her daughter, but wisdom limited Rowena's brilliance to logic and reason. Her mother did not make choices based on ethics or morals.

Death had clouded the elder Ravenclaw's mind. Baron Slytherinson was a bloodthirsty man whose avarice made him a self-centred aristocrat. The Baron had no personal interest in Helena save for the fact that she was Rowena's only heir. He may speak of love and sweet nothings but Helena wasn't as easily fooled as her mother who only saw the prestige, honour, and wealth that the Baron boasted.

"What art thou doing in Albania, anyway?" the Baron asked, looking around in revulsion at the forest.

"I _was_ hiding," Helena stated bitterly.

"Come now, love. Is marriage truly _such _an abhorrence to your delicate, beautiful mind?"

"Leave me alone," was her final answer.

The Baron frowned. "I shall never," he vowed.

"I refuse to marry," Helena said with a proud arrogance. "And certainly not to _you_."

A fire flashed in the Baron's eyes. "Men do not admire such candour in a woman," he hissed out. "Consider yourself fortunate that I am more forgiving than most."

She scowled. "I am not a puppet whose strings are yours to control," she spat acrimoniously. "If you cannot value my independence as a maiden, I shudder to think of how you will regard me as your wife."

"You would be a queen amongst queens," the Baron promised in all sincerity.

"I have no desire to be placed upon a throne," she retorted icily, dousing the flames of passion licking at his words.

The Baron arched an eyebrow. "Oh? So why doth thee hath your mother's crown for thyself?"

Helena blushed and looked away. "Her diadem is none of your business, Slytherinson."

He stepped closer to her and held out an expectant hand. "Lady Ravenclaw personally requested for you to return and for the diadem to be restored to its rightful place. Hand it over, Lena."

"I won't." Helena was proud of stealing her mother's most treasured possession. She was not about to willingly undo her accomplishment by giving back the diadem.

"You wish me to disrespect the orders of Lady Ravenclaw?" he demanded. "And in turn, slander my family name?"

Helena huffed and took another step backwards. Her back was up against a tree, but still, the Baron advanced menacingly upon her with that predatory glint in his dark eyes. "No," she said defiantly. "Just tell her that you could not find me."

"I, the best tracker in all of Britannia, was unable to find you, an insignificant little girl?"

She rolled her eyes. "You sure know how to charm a lady, Slytherinson."

Abruptly, the Baron sank down to one knee. "Marry me, Helena," he pleaded. "I beg of you to stop thinking about your silly morals and honour your mother's and my simple wish."

The man was a bloody idiot! He was so blinded by his personal wants that he did not realise he sounded like a narcissist and hypocritical to other people. The Baron's logic was completely twisted, and Helena feared that there was no hope in escaping his deluded fantasy anymore.

"I – I cannot," she whispered.

"You leave me no choice," he murmured like a lover would to their beloved. Before she could fully register what was happening, the blade of the knife dug its way into her heart the same way a wedding ring chokes freedom out if its owners' finger.

[-]

Helena looked down at herself. What had she become? It was dark out but by the light of the moon she thought she saw herself . . . _floating_. How odd. The last thing she could remember was pain, such excruciating metallic pain, radiating out from her chest. Wasn't she in a forest? There had been a man with her . . . a man whose name she could not remember but filled her heart with an aching uneasiness. And her mother's diadem! Or rather, it was _her_ diadem now. _But where was it?_ (And where was she?)

"_Merlin_," she swore when she bumped up against _something_ in the dark. Instead of bouncing off the object like humans normally did, she had passed through the thing. It felt like an unpleasant discomfort in her side but nothing too life-threatening. In her shock, though, she instinctively placed her right hand over heart and gasped. She no longer had a heartbeat! If Helena were still alive, she could have fainted at that realisation. As it was, she had to settle for another dramatic gasp (this time, she noted air was no longer crucial and that she only breathed out of habit).

It didn't take Helena Ravenclaw that long to realise she was now a ghost of the person she had once been.

[-]

She returned to Hogwarts empty-handed with a heart weighed down with remorse and no idea as to where her mother's diadem was. She knocked on the castle door, resigned and ready to turn herself in for her treacherous acts of betrayal against her mother.

The front door opened and out stepped Salazar Slytherin. "Oh," he sneered in displeasure. "It's you."

"Hello, Lord Slytherin," she responded cordially. She never did like the Slytherin Founder or the son he had raised but her mother had raised her to be mindful of her elders. "I am here to see my mother."

"She's _dead_, you ungrateful pathetic girl," Slytherin spat out in undisguised fury. "A hundred years since this day. Twas only a sunset that had passed after you left when she did as well. Her ailment was a broken heart."

Helena only stared at him uncomprehendingly. A century had already passed? That couldn't be. And her mother, oh _Merlin_, what had Helena done?

"I am dead, too," she stated unnecessarily. "Doth thee think I could find her immortal form in the world of spirits in which I dwell?"

Slytherin shook his head. The wrinkles in his face were drooping and his hair had turned silver with age. He no longer looked like the noble aristocrat Helena remembered but his haughtiness was a trait time could not erase. "Methinks Lady Ravenclaw passed into the world of the dead in hopes of finding you there too."

It seemed as if Helena was always destined to make mistakes. "I am so very sorry," she whispered.

Slytherin looked at her coldly. "Tis not the only life thou harmed with thy actions."

"What do you mean?"

A ghost floated through the door. He wore blood and chains across his body as if it were a trophy to be proud of. Though she could not recall his name when she had first gained consciousness in her ghost form, she immediately knew who he was as he glided over to her with a tender smile on his face.

"Hello, my love."

[-]

The centuries came and went the same way as a tide ebbs and flows, weathering away the details in her memories. Still, she could never forget her thievery of the lost diadem or her darling mother or even the Baron, for he refreshed the tragedy and short longevity of her human life with every chance their paths crossed in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.

Helena was titled the ghost of her House as she felt it was her duty to oversee the progress of her mother's vision of the school she had dreamt up. The Baron carried out the legacy of his father's name with pride as well, and they watched over the students of their respective Houses with critical eyes.

"The Heir of Slytherin is ambitious and bright but I fear that darkness splits his soul as well," the Baron confided to Helena.

She ignored his whispers as she usually did, for she thought he was propositioning her once again, and she had no time even in death for such foolishly silly things such as marriage. (She then thinks to herself that perhaps she should have married him and then taken her life because _till death do us part_ would have been very effective as a restraining order against the Baron.)

[-]

He found her drifting helplessly about in Ravenclaw Tower. Almost a decade of centuries had passed since Helena's treason to her mother, and not for the first time Helena wished that she had not been such a thoughtless conceited girl in her youth.

"You are the Grey Lady, are you not?" he inquired, politely alerting her of his presence.

She kept her back to him and continued on staring out of the window of the tower. "That is not my name," she responded bitterly.

"My apologies," he soothed in a voice of honey. He carefully continued to approach her. "I was reading through Hogwarts: A History and noticed that today's date coincided with the passing of your mother. I thought you might enjoy some company or moral support."

"That is terribly kind of you, but I am afraid I must decline," she responded in a clipped tone.

He did not leave. He came to stand next to her at the window and studied the Hogwarts grounds from their vantage point. "I respect your mother very much," he said quietly. "Such brilliance and architectural skill she must have possessed to design such a magical place as Hogwarts."

"She was the best of the best," Helena agreed but did not elaborate.

"Was it solely her brain?" the Hogwarts student pressed on. "Or did she have help?"

Without thinking, Helena instinctively replied: "She had a diadem that would grant its wearer enhanced wisdom. It was her prized possession but I stole it from her." She turned to the Hogwarts student curiously and noticed the Slytherin green tie noosed around his neck. "Surely the textbooks would have mentioned that?"

The Slytherin smiled that chilling serpentine-smile which Helena vaguely remembered adorning Lord Slytherin's face from time-to-time. "Yes but the books do not say much more. I wanted a first-hand account; Professor Binns would be absolutely thrilled if my end-of-term thesis paper uncovered hidden Hogwarts history."

Helena disagreed – she did not think that Professor Binns was truly thrilled by anything – but she decided to humour this Slytherin charmer. "The diadem is lost, hence its name the _lost_ diadem. I do not know of its location."

He seemed to accept this as her final answer on the subject. "All right, that's understandable. So tell me about your death, then."

"Well, I was running away from Hogwarts with the diadem and I thought the Albanian forest would be a nice remote location . . . ."

When she heard of what Tom Riddle Jr. had done to her mother's diadem in the following decades, she hated herself for inadvertently betraying her mother's memory once more. She vowed to never let another student get past her guard again.

[-]

Of course, there came another time when Helena Ravenclaw had to break her promise.

The Baron floated up to her as Harry Potter left the corridor. "Lena, my love, has thee finally spoketh of thy ghosts in your past?" he inquired gently.

She closed her eyes as the walls of the once-invincible castle in her mother's dreams came crashing down all around her. "I did what had to be done."

[-]


	5. (you want the world, i'll give you mine)

**Author's Note:  
>Disclaimer: Lauren Oliver, JKRowling, Hedley, the Doctor, Dr Seuss, Maroon 5, and Veronica Roth are all cordially invited to Safari's party.<br>**

Written for the Oh the Thinks You Can Think Competition "Wickersham Brothers" ; Before I Fall Challenge quote 1. "Thinking of that moment makes a new rush of anger and frustration swell up inside me." ; Divergent Competition quote 1. "Sometimes, the best way to help someone is just to be near them." ; Doctor Who Quote Challenge quote 18. "My experience is that there is, you know, surprisingly, always hope." ; Hedley Song Challenge "2. Anything" ; Wand Wood Competition "Cedar" ; Disney Character Competition "Mama Odie"

17 May 2014. Inspired by: "Never Gonna Leave This Bed" by Maroon 5. Word Count: 768

**I don't want to give up on you even though you've given up on yourself.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>You Want The World, I'll Give You Mine<br>**

[-]

"'Cause you're the girl I'll never find and I'm the boy you left behind." - Maroon 5, _Never Gonna Leave This Bed_

[-]

"Do you want to tell me what the hell just happened back there?"

He ignored her and continued punching the stone wall of the Astronomy Tower. Never mind that each assault on his battered knuckles shattered the joints even more; never mind that the skin was grating off his hands and his bones were protruding from his mangled flesh; never mind that the blood that streamed down was pure, so pure, and -

"God dammit, Rowena, mind your own fucking business!" He wanted to bruise himself even further, but suddenly she was standing in the gap between him and the wall.

Her quicksilver eyes flashed like a thousand brilliant suns in the moonlight. "I believe any consequence of your god-awful choices regarding _our_ school is 'my business'," she said coldly. "Now, do you want to talk about this rationally or are you going to continue being an insensitive brute about it?"

"There is nothing to talk about." Salazar snaked an arm around her and slammed a fist into the grey stone in the gap between her ear and left shoulder. She didn't even flinch, much to his disappointment.

"Stop self-destructing," she commanded him.

He ignored her and spun away in a whirl of self-importance. Salazar was still seething from his row with Gryffindor - God, just _thinking_ about the argument had him blazing with anger and frustration again. It irked the Slytherin that he was losing his usual detached composure, but he'd always been passionate about blood purity. Hogwarts was destined to become the top-notch wizarding school in all of Europe - why didn't the other Founders seem to realise that for their dream to come true they could only accept the best of the best protégés?

"Sal," Rowena said in a quieter voice. "I know you and Godric often do not see eye to eye but that is not reason enough for you to lose your temper in front of the students. They hold you in high esteem. You're their mentor and aspiration. Every word you speak and every action you make creates a butterfly effect on their education. This gives us professors the potential to mould their futures and the way they view the world. You must learn to control your temper, Salazar, lest you lead their minds astray."

He quirked his head to one side: he was not sure if she was giving out ambiguous advice on purpose or if she simply wanted to sound like an insufferable know-it-all. "What am I, the bloody queen of England? I'll act how I want to act," he sneered, upper lip curled in distaste. "And if those snotty little brats do not have enough propriety to discipline themselves, why should it be my sole responsibility to change their attitudes?"

"You're a teacher, are you not?" She inhaled sharply, and the frown on her face soured the atmosphere between the two Founders. If her eyes were suns, he could note the exact moment they were eclipsed by disappointment when she figured out what he and Gryffindor had been quarrelling about. "You were rowing about blood purity again, weren't you." The displeasure colouring her tone was like an arrow dipped in poison that shot guilt straight into his spinal cord.

"Who sent you up here?" he questioned tersely, his non sequitur dismissing her reprimands. "Was it Hufflepuff? God knows she hates confrontations. Or was it Gryffindor and his wounded bloody pride?"

He was staring out of the Astronomy Tower's window, so he missed her expression; her emotions were clearly conveyed in her voice, though. "I came up here because I wanted to, Sal. Because I _care_ about you. I came because you're hurting and you're always isolating yourself, but nobody should have to live that way!" Rowena's passionate earnestness faded away with her next words. "And I don't want to give up on you even though you've given up on yourself. But I can't do this anymore. I can't save someone who does not want to be saved." She hesitated as if she wasn't sure if she should tack on her next sentence. "I have faith in you, Sal, and I keep hoping that you'll stop shutting out your friends before the damage is irreversible. I'll always hope the best for you."

Salazar was mulling over her words, when a beat too late, he registered what she meant instead of what she had said. Her last phrase sounded a little too much like a goodbye for his liking. He jerked with a start and his eyes widened into a panicked expression. "Rowena, wait - !"

But she had already left.

[-]


	6. (viva la vida)

**Author's Note:  
>Disclaimer:<br>**

Written for the Battleship Challenge (E7: Founder's Era) ; Oh The Thinks You Can Think Competition "King Derwin of Didd" ; Divergent Competition Candor quote 3. "Lies require commitment."

25 May 2014. Inspired by "Viva la Vida" by Coldplay. Word Count:

**Oh, would the Founders be in for a shock!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><span><strong>Viva la Vida<br>**

_I used to rule the world.  
><em>

He chanced one last look at the castle he thought he could call home. He had been so very foolish. Salazar snorted in contempt. All of them were liars, every single last one of them trapped inside of those stone walls. They never thought he was worthy enough for them despite their sickly sweet smiles. The irony of his lacking persona was not lost on Salazar - the reason for his departure was because _they_ wanted to let filth into their school.

Over his dead body would he let that happen.

Over their dead bodies, too. He smirked as he thought of the chamber of secrets he had constructed and the dormant basilisk he had placed inside. Oh, would the Founders be in for a shock! Salazar did not regret his actions - the only thing he regretted was that he wouldn't be there to bask in the glory of his purification achievements.

He had to leave, though. Hogwarts was not the place he had envisioned, and he thought he would explode if he stayed inside of the castle for another second. The lying and pretending was wearing down on him. He wasn't ready to commit to a two-faced life of lies. It wouldn't have bothered him to demolish the whole school in his rage, but _her_ disappointment would kill him.

There was a ruckus from one of the towers; he forced himself not to look, for he feared that his resolve would break and all of his progress would be lost. He continued onward into the Forbidden Forest where he could Apparate away from the past.

"Sal!"

The sound tore his heart into two, but the proud wizard did not look in the direction of Ravenclaw Tower. The only hint that he was affected by his love's anguished cry was the falter in his footsteps.

"Sal, wait!"

He was so close to freedom - just a few hundred metres and then he would be rid of the soft-hearted weaklings who thought they knew best. Just a few metres and then he could isolate himself for good and forget about silly emotions like love or friendship. His meticulously constructed world had been torn apart because he had made a few mistakes by letting his heart make decisions instead of his head. No, he refused for his control to slip again.

"Come back!" Rowena cried desperately. "Please, Salazar, come back!"

The trees in the forest that was forbidden swallowed up his shadow. The witch with tear-blurred eyes watched her love walk purposefully out of their life. She wanted to tell him that he was being irrational, that the other Founders had come to a compromise, that this blood purity issue could be resolved if they could all just talk it out. But too many variables had gone wrong - he had been too volatile and passionate about the subject; Helga had been too sympathetic; Godric had been to contrary; and she, well, she had been too dismissive and logical.

There was a large, resounding _crrrrack_ that came from the heart of the forest. It echoed the jagged crack tearing her own heart apart.


	7. (orphan file)

**Author's Note:  
>Disclaimer: <strong>

Written for the QL competition (round nine, chaser two: "lonely" ; no using the word "Hogwarts" ; "join" ; Tom Riddle Jr. ; a dislike of your character/pairing), Wand Wood Competition (Yew), Hunger Games Fanfic style Training Round, and the Last Man Standing Competition (canon or could be canon).

Summary:

30 August 2014. Word Count:

* * *

><p><strong><span>Orphan File<br>**

[-]

(OFFICIAL RECORDS OF MISS SMILEY'S HOME FOR CHILDREN)

Miss Smiley's Home for Children Population Census No. 24

DATE: 1 January 1926 - 1 January 1927

ORPHANS: 48  
>(as of the last date printed above)<p>

STAFF: 10  
>(paid fullpart-time)

NOTES: The orphanage is currently eight people over capacity. Rooms A, E, and F each have two more occupants than available beds. This past month (December 1926), two workers have been added to the full-time staff - assistant kitchen cook (M. Teavie); laundress (H. Beeoh).

On 29 December 1926, a half-delirious woman was found barely conscious on the orphanage's doorsteps. Ocular observance determined she was severely malnourished as well as in her last trimester of pregnancy. She was immediately offered medical help and room and board, all free of charge (more details on the 1926-1927 financial records).

Woman went into labour prematurely on 30 December 1926. Baby #24601 (m.) was born on 31 December. Woman died an hour after childbirth. Baby #24601 has been placed into room F.

x

[The following is an excerpt from the audio files of the standard interview given to new orphans of Miss Smiley's Home for Children.]

_Voice One: _Today is December thirty-first, nineteen-twenty-six. It is twenty-thirty-three pm. I am here to conduct the standard interview given to new orphans registered for permanent living arrangements here at Miss Smiley's Home for Children. (baby wails in the background) Miss Merope Gaunt is here to speak on behalf of newborn baby two-four-six-oh-one.

_Merope: _(sobbing) I did it. I killed him. It's my fault.

_Voice One: _(soothingly) No, dear, look. Your baby is fine. He's healthy and alive.

_Merope: _ (hysterically) You don't understand! Nobody understands! I killed him. It was me. I killed him.

_Voice One: _Shh. There, there.

_Merope: _Oh, God. I'm going to join my father and burn in Hell, aren't I? Oh, God. Oh, God. Look, he's already coming back to haunt me.

_Voice One: _No one is going to hurt you. Shh, dear, you're safe.

_Merope: _I'm not. I'll never be safe. I killed him.

_Voice One: _Miss Gaunt -

_Merope: _(screeching) Don't call me that!

_Voice One: _Er, pardon. Miss Merope, can you tell me about the baby's father? Or about your own family? We would like to place your son with the right people should someone come looking for him.

_Merope: _Don't you dare give him to those fuckers! I'll rise up from the grave to strangle those son-of-a-bitches again if I have to! Oh, cut the bullshit Miss (the baby's wails get louder and drown out the next few words)

_Voice One_: Hush, baby. Shh. (pauses) Miss Merope, -

_Merope_: I'm going to die tonight, aren't I?

_Voice One: _Only the Lord can answer that question.

_Merope_: (talking quietly to the baby so that the recorder barely picks up her words) I hate to leave you all alone, little man. No one likes to be alone. But...I can't stay here. You'll understand one day. (the baby wails even louder)

_Voice One_: Miss Merope, what would you like to name your son?

_Merope:_ (dreamily) Tom, after his father. He's the spittin' image of him, don't you see? And then Marvolo, after my daddy. And Riddle for his surname. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Such a strong name for such a strong boy. He's going to change the world, you know.

_Voice One: _Of course.

_Merope: _(sharply) That's all I have to say to you regarding my son and his ancestry. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to die in peace.

x

Incident Report

DATE: 7 July 1933

NAME OF PERPETRATOR: Tom Marvolo Riddle (formerly #24601)

DAMAGES (property, person, injuries, etc.): Mildred Burgess - concussion, Edward Franklin - compound fracture in left femur, 1864 chandelier destroyed beyond repair, foundation stress fractures in the foyer

SUGGESTED METHOD OF DISCIPLINE: Three week isolation with a two-meals-a-day ration. Reduction in daily outdoor time by one hour.

NOTES: Burgess and Franklin claim that Riddle intentionally broke the chandelier in the Great Hall right as the two were passing underneath. The two eight-year-olds say that six-year-old Riddle has hated them "ever since we told him that he was too little and couldn't join us when all of us were playing on the playground." Riddle has testified as innocent. It should be noted that Riddle says his imaginary friends made him do it "because they didn't like that I was so lonely."

x

Incident Report

DATE: 14 September 1933

NAME OF PERPETRATOR: Tom Marvolo Riddle (formerly #24601)

DAMAGES: third-storey plumbing is backed up, a wild python let loose on the grounds, Lois Baker - dislocated right shoulder, Andrew Gibson - sprained right ankle, Mark Price - panic attack stemming from his fear of snakes

SUGGESTED METHOD OF DISCIPLINE: No contact with peers for two weeks. Three hand-written apology letters to Baker, Gibson, and Price. Bathroom maintenance duty (all storeys of the orphanage) for a week.

NOTES: Riddle purposefully flooded the third storey bathroom in retaliation to his peers for making fun of his name and his solitary behaviour during lunch hours. It has been made clear by Riddle on several occasions that he likes to be alone but not lonely, and that his name is a sensitive subject. Somehow, the six-year-old found a baby python and set it loose in the orphanage. Witnesses mention that Riddle emitted a strange hissing noise and that the snake seemed to follow his "directions". Resulting injuries were not intentional this time.

x

Incident Report

DATE: 31 December 1934

NAME OF PERPETRATOR: Tom Marvolo Riddle (formerly #24601)

DAMAGES: Billy Stubbs' rabbit has been hung from Room F's rafters

SUGGESTED METHOD OF DISCIPLINE: No dessert or outdoor privileges for a month. Isolation for two months. Upon completion, he will be moved into solitary confinement in bedroom A. (black desperate scribble in the margin) We're running out of disciplinary methods. Tom does not respond to punishments or learn from his errors. He is uncooperative and a liable threat to the health and safety of the orphanage.

NOTES: The death of Stubbs' rabbit was in a moment of revenge from Riddle who had gotten into a fight with Stubbs earlier this evening. Stubbs reportedly called Riddle a "freak" and "filthy son of a whore" which led to a physical fight between the two eight-year-olds.

x

(OFFICIAL RECORDS OF MISS SMILEY'S HOME FOR CHILDREN)

Miss Smiley's Home for Children Population Census No. 36

DATE: 1 January 1938 - 1 January 1939

ORPHANS: 23  
>(as of the last date printed above)<p>

STAFF: 12  
>(paid fullpart-time)

NOTES: This past month, three workers have been transferred from the orphanage's full-time staff to the part-time staff - assistant secretary (B. Gold); landscape manager (C. Blue); community relations adviser (I. Sgrey).

On 1 September 1938, #24601 temporarily left to attend a prestigious school in Scotland. Within the month, Miss Smiley's Home for Children has stopped its mysterious trend of unexplained orphan disappearances.

[-]


	8. (wonderland)

Written for the Cinema Competition "The Wizard of Oz" (a change in scenery; _Well, some people without brains do an awful lot of talking, don't they?"__)_; Duct Tape Competition "White Zebra" (someone who usually fades into the background); Poetry Quotes Bootcamp "21. "There's no road to tread,/No traveler ahead,/Neither a beginning, nor an end" - _Having Crossed the River_, Kabir"; Your Favourite Hogwarts House Bootcamp [GRYFFINDOR] "2. Lost"; Disney Movie Plotline Competition "Alice in Wonderland".

1/27 2014. Re-posted 2/19 2015. Word Count: 629

[-]

**Wonderland**

She's falling  
>down<br>down  
>down.<p>

There's nowhere to go from here.  
>There's everywhere to go from here.<br>It's a rabbit hole of endless possibilities:  
>a clock to turn back the hands of time,<br>a riddle to erase the mistakes of a lie,  
>a promise that was meant to be kept,<br>and a girl that was to be perfect and accepted  
>except<p>

That girl went by the name of Alice  
>(she's the one who is falling like a star, you know)<br>a Gryffindor with the purest of blood  
>and a heart full of scarlet flames and gold.<br>She was brilliantly fabulous at Hogwarts (Flitwick would attest with this)  
>she could Charm like a princess – curtsy, bow, <em>how do you do Miss?<em>  
>or like a witch – she would wave that faerie wand with a precise <em>swish-and-flick<em>.

She loved the gardens (and the Forbidden Forest, too)  
>or perhaps she only like those places as a point to rendezvous.<br>She went there often to meet up with a boy named Longbottom  
>a dashing Hufflepuff fellow who favoured the colours black and yellow.<p>

He offered her the world – but she said she already had her own  
>a world built up of magic because her real life was tragic.<br>Alice called the place Wonderland because it was full of wonderful things  
>but he told her to come back to reality and to get her head out of her dreams.<p>

That girl went by the name of Alice  
>she wasn't a pretty faerie tale princess:<br>She liked the dirt and the earth and greenhouse three  
>She didn't have a crown of praise circling her head<br>She liked words and the birds and flying free  
>She didn't care to be noticed and wasn't easily upset.<p>

Longbottom rescued her from her fanciful wishes  
>he showed her what love was and sprinkled her with kisses<br>He saved her from the dragons and the demons in her mind  
>He saved her from the caterpillars and the rabbit who was never on time.<p>

When she was with him, she found courage in her tin lioness heart  
>she found strength and wisdom in her scarecrow mind<br>Together they joined with the phoenix and the Light  
>Together they thrice defied the Dark<p>

But the queen of hearts was determined to drag Alice back  
>to continue the game of wits in the noble House of Black<br>With a spell and a curse and a twirl and a hex  
>Alice was sent back into this strategic game of chess.<p>

It was the fight of her life and the stakes were high  
>This strange Bellatrix was determined to end her life<br>But back at home Longbottom and Alice had had a boy who was born at the end of July  
>and she wasn't going to leave Neville without a mum or Frank without a wife.<p>

And then came the pain, the excruciating – _Crucio!_ – pain  
>Frank fell powerless to the floor; he couldn't save her anymore<br>Together they fell, alone they separated  
>The demons came back with a vengeance and their last shreds of sanity vacated.<p>

The pain stops and a blinding white light took its place  
>She realises this is her final destination before Death plays its ace of spades.<br>There's no beginning or end that she can see  
>She knows she's back in Wonderland but that's not where she wants to be.<br>Alice is lost and alone in the place she knows best  
>her dreamland has become a nightmare; who would've guessed?<p>

Where's Frank and his level-headed clarity?  
>Where's her baby and all of his future possibilities?<br>Where's the escape and the exit to leave?

And perhaps some people without brains do an awful lot of talking  
>But not this girl (this Alice) for her mind is screaming helplessly as she is falling<br>falling  
>falling.<p>

[-]


	9. (rumplestiltskin)

Written for the HPFC The Off the Block Competition "Backstroke Hard"; Cinema Competition "Fight Club" (partnership); Poetry Quotes Bootcamp "10. "Alone, all alone/Nobody, but nobody/Can make it out here alone" - Alone, Maya Angelou"; The Star Challenge "Bellatrix" (Narcissa); Disney Movie Plotline Competition "Old Yeller" (someone doing something that they don't want to do); Dream Challenge "Dusk"

1/28 2014. Re-posted 2/19 2015. Word Count: 495

[-]

**Rumplestiltskin**

My father told Lord Riddle I could turn blood into galleons. It was a desperate ploy to bolster our deteriorating reputation, but my father lied. Lord Riddle requested my presence immediately, though, with expectations of failure.

I was brought to Lord Riddle's castle at dusk and locked away in a tower. _Turn this into a hundred galleons by morning or I'll cut off your head_, he threatened in that silky serpentine voice. What Lord Riddle asked was impossible, and he and I both knew that my head would be mounted on an iron pike come daylight.

Suddenly a little elf-like man appeared. Where had he come from? There were no unlocked entrances to my sealed-up tower. He ignored my questions and said: _I'll make you an offer you can't refuse: I will transform blood into galleons in exchange for your locket_.

I immediately touched my family heirloom hanging around my neck. An S was etched on it – S for Slytherin, Father said which I thought to be odd since our name was Black. It was real silver – I could pawn it for at least thirty sickles – but my life was in grave danger.

_Fine_, I told him and handed over my Slytherin locket. He told me to close my eyes, so I did. I heard a _snap!_ and when I opened my eyes a hundred galleons were where a vial of blood once had been and he was also gone. It was like magic.

When Lord Riddle came to behead me, he instead found 'my' success. He moved me to a different tower and gave me forty ounces of blood this time. _Four hundred galleons or off with your head_, he hissed. Luckily, my saviour returned but asked for my Resurrection Stone ring as payment. Reluctantly, I handed it over. Again, he snapped and galleons appeared while he and blood vanished away.

Lord Riddle was flabbergasted at my achievement: he offered marriage if I would kill a person and change their dirty blood into galleons. I swallowed my revulsion at his murderous offer, but as a serf my answer was predictable.

He came back, lured in by Lord Riddle's new challenge. I had nothing to offer him, though. He made me promise him my firstborn child but I refused. _You've three chances to guess my name, then. If you guess correctly, no payment from you is required_.

Oh, but what to call this elf-like creature? I had muttered this aloud, and he yelped. _How did you know Kreacher twas my name?_ he demanded. _Lucky guess_? I responded. He grabbed a dagger from his boot and proceeded to slit his throat. _Nobody is allowed to know an elf's true name_, he hissed as his life bled out. He made one last _snap_! and a galleon appeared while his body dissolved into thin air.

And I, now Lady Narcissa of Riddlelands, found out a little too late that a blood sacrifice is worth more than any galleon.

[-]


	10. (saving us)

**Author's Note:  
>Disclaimer: If you think I'm being serious, I may have to hex you.<strong>

Written for the HPFC Cinema Competition "Avatar"; Monthly Het-tastic Drabble-athon "99. they said we'd never make it"; Twelve Days of Christmas Challenge "3. crack pairing"; Acrostic-y Competition "The Vanishing Gla_**s**_s"

I don't know or really care if any of these details are canon.

22 February 2014. Re-posted 20 February 2015. Word Count: 407

**"I've been told my looksssss can kill."**

* * *

><p><span><strong>Saving Us<strong>

[-]

She met him in a shifty hole-in-the-wall establishment. He kept to the shadows, eyes lowered and reeking of loneliness. When she arrived, though, he gave her a once-over and a hiss of appreciation. Nagini smirked to herself at his blatant admiration of her curves but told herself not to get distracted. She was a trained assassin on a mission for her master.

"I assssssume you mussssst be the bassssilissssk?" she murmured and sidled up close to him.

"How tiny you are," the basilisk mused. "I am ssssso very hungry."

"You won't eat me," Nagini declared confidently. "Not when you have all of these Mudbloodsssss and half-breedsssss at your disposal."

The basilisk contemplated this. "But I bet you tasssssste _love_ly."

Nagini was disgusted by the basilisk and his poor attempt at innuendo. This beautiful creature straight out of a myth had so much potential but it seemed that the hundreds of years had taken a toll on his once-brilliant mind. Look at him now, forced to waste away in this dank mouldy chamber. She did not envy him one bit.

"The Heir of Ssssslytherin isssss returning," she informed him, tired of the pleasantries and heading straight into business. "He will ssssseek you out. Do not disobey his ordersssssss – he isssss the only one who can sssssave ussssss."

"Ssssave usss from what?"

"Extinction," Nagini stated curtly. "The close-minded Death Eaterssss said we'd never make it out alive but they're wrong."

The basilisk frowned and coiled himself up tighter. "What do we have to be afraid of?"

"Death. Corruption from filthy impure magic-casters." She let that sink into his ancient brain before continuing: "If you want to sssssurvive, you musssst obey the Master."

He was quiet and flicked his tongue out as he contemplated her words. But his train of thoughts seemed to differ from hers, for his next words were: "I've been told my looksssss can kill," he whispered silkily and flicked his tail over her scales seductively.

Nagini narrowed her eyes. "Bite me," she spat out, thoroughly revolted. She had accomplished her recruitment task and offered him a chance at longevity. The basilisk's survival was no longer a priority of hers.

Alone, she slithered out of the Chamber of Secrets and through the pipes of Hogwarts. Her master would return soon, and though she may be the only one of his original serpentine followers returning to him, Nagini would have faith in him until the day she died.

[-]


	11. (how tonks got her best friend back)

**Author's Note:  
>Disclaimer: Quaggas are so cute and I want twenty.<strong>

Written for the Battle AU! Competition (w3: store clerk!au ; quagga), Acrostic-y Chapter Competition (c4: The Keeper of t**_h_**e Keys; heard you're doing okay)

Yesterday was a shitty day for me, so I did some writing to cheer me up. Apologies in advance if this piece isn't as spiffy as it should be.

7 March 2015. Word Count: 1,012

**"You're right," he says. "You always are. Why don't we just talk this out, okay?"**

* * *

><p><strong><span>How Tonks Got Her Best Friend Back<span>**

[-]

"Hello! Welcome to Magical Menagerie!" He unloads the bags of pet food out of his hands and onto the shelf hurriedly so he can help the newest customer.

"Hey, Chuckles."

Upon hearing his best friend's voice, Charlie immediately stops re-stocking the shelves and turns around to face her. Charlie pointedly adjusts the nametag pinned on to his store clerk smock. "Charlie," he reads slowly, enunciating every syllable. "Ch-ar-lie."

She gives him an odd look. "I know your name." She shakes her head and dismisses his weird behaviour. "So, anyway, how's your new summer job working out? You spend so many hours here, and we never get to see each other anymore. I heard you're doing okay."

"Tonks."

She looks up innocently, playing a symphony of sounds orchestrated from her fingers still running through pet key chains. "Yeah?"

"What are you doing here?" Charlie places his hands on the cashier countertop and leans forward slightly. His brown eyes stare at her knowingly.

"Shopping for a new pet, of course. Unless you think I'll find better options at Slug and Jigger's, I believe it's popular opinion that this is the place to go for magical pets? I, for one, prefer my furry friends to be alive and not dead."

"You're allergic to pet dander."

Call him sceptical, but now he's definitely sure Tonks didn't come into the shop to purchase a pet. She's quite attached to her snowy owl, anyway, so he can't imagine why she would want a new pet right before their Seventh Year.

She waves her hand. "Semantics. Ooh! Look at this, Chuckles!" Tonks starts to enthusiastically flip through Magical Menagerie's latest catalogue. "Baby Kneazles! Aren't they so cute? No, wait –" Tonks snatches the catalogue and holds it up in front of her face so that Charlie can only see her eyes and forehead. "Guess which animal I want."

Charlie lets out a sigh of amusement. "Tonks, I'm a bit busy right now –"

"I'm the only customer in the shop," she interrupts. "Come on, just guess!"

"I don't have time to –"

"Guess! Guess! Guess!"

"I have no clue."

Tonks rolls her eyes. "Wow, this job has sapped you of all your humour, Chuckles. Where's your sense of fun?"

"I grew up," he says flatly. "I have to prove to Mum that I am mature enough to take the internship in Romania next autumn."

"Well, boo," Tonks frowns. She lays the catalogue open to the page of the animal that she wants. "And for your information, you were trying to guess a six-letter word that starts with Q."

Charlie thinks hard for a moment, mouthing animal species that begin with the letter Q. He does a double-take when he thinks he's come to the right conclusion. "You want a quagga?"

"Yes!" Tonks turns a bright, sunny yellow. "Look at it! It's basically a fluffy brown horse trying to be a zebra."

"Er, don't you think it's a little big for Hogwarts?"

"As a sales clerk, aren't you supposed to be trying to convince your customers to buy animals?"

Charlie scowls. "Tonks. Be serious."

"Okay, fine, whatever. Ix-nay on the quagga." Tonks stares at him critically, her hair changing to a dark noir. "And I am serious. You're the one who's getting on a Percy-level of seriousness."

He groans and crosses his arms over his chest. "Merlin, you've been talking to the twins, haven't you? They're the only ones who use that phrase."

She throws her hands up in the air. "So what if I've been? You need a dose of reality, Charlie. This behaviour is not you."

"I knew you had an ulterior motive for coming into the shop!"

"Wow, okay, ten points to Gryffindor. Thanks for paying attention to the least important part of that sentence," Tonks comments sarcastically.

He huffs in response.

"Look," she says and reaches for him. He obliges and uncrosses his arms so that she can grab a hold of his hand. Charlie knows she feels more comfortable talking when she has physical contact with the person she is speaking to. "I didn't come in here to fight. I just... I miss you. You're different now and it feels like you changed and grew up into an adult overnight. I'm in that weird limbo of adjusting to your new demeanour. Don't mind me, all right?" Tonks squeezes his hand and then lets go.

Charlie stares at her, completely motionless until he hears the chime of the bell above the door which signals her departure from the pet shop. "Wait!" he yells, his brain finally comprehending the situation. He vaults over the counter and runs to catch up with her. "You're right," he says. "You always are. Why don't we just talk this out, okay? Let's meet at Florean Fortescue's after my shift is over at one. Until then, I want you to know that I'm sorry for anything that I have done to hurt or upset you. That was never my intention."

Tonks gives him a small smile and kisses her best friend on the cheek. "I know, Charlie. It's okay."

"No, it's not," he insists.

He's a bit breathless from the run – he's had to cut back Quidditch practice hours in order to put in time at the shop. Just another sacrifice he has made for work, Charlie realises belatedly. He is starting to notice that the list is getting awfully long, and he's not so sure that his summer job is worth it now that he sees the tension it has put on his relationship with Tonks and his brothers and how it's made him lose sight of his values. He resolves to talk with his mother about re-negotiating another way to prove his responsibility and maturity instead of working at Magical Menagerie.

"So, one o'clock at the ice cream parlour? A scoop of Double Trouble and then we can go plan a prank on the twins just like old times?" he asks.

Tonks grins widely, and her hair returns to its normal vibrant shade of bubblegum pink. "Deal. See you, then."

[-]


End file.
